Burn
by halfpsychotic
Summary: When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire. Naomi Campbell has always run from her problems, and four years and a new continent after a particularly nasty breakup was not a new story. What if that bubble comes crashing down?
1. Chapter 1

It's easier, isn't it? Easier to burn everything and walk the other way. This is how she's felt comfortable operating for years and it wasn't an aspect she was looking to change in her life any time soon. Easier solutions. Run, burn, rinse and repeat. Don't let anyone get close enough to hurt you, burn them first when you think you see it coming. Sure, it leaves marks. Of course in would, sometimes you don't even **want** to burn anything, you just feel trapped and it's easier to light the match and just fucking _burn it all_. She'd stuck by this theory since she was a child. Maybe that was where this had all started? She couldn't be sure anymore, her entire life was flip-flopping as she watched helplessly.

She was cornered at 17, burned it all at 18 and here, at 23, it's all come back to bite her in the ass. Naomi Campbell never wanted to stay in Bristol. It was swallowing her a little bit more, year after year, and it's appetite only seemed to expand when she met Emily Fitch. It was scary at first, then comfortable, then too comfortable to the point that it scared her again. A vicious fucking circle. When she started picturing babies and homes and white picket fences, all in fucking _Bristol,_ she knew the goddamn town's teeth were at her most vulnerable point and if she didn't light that match, she'd be devoured. That's all Sophia was, the poor girl, she was a match and even though it had all gone down so ugly, she still didn't feel guilty about what she'd done. At least what happened to Sophia. Surely, she had started the fire, but it wasn't her fucking fault the chick was batshit crazy.

That was the first time that she had tried to put out the fire before too much got damaged. She'd hidden it, cried about it, fought tooth and nail for forgiveness when all the damage was revealed. But it was too late, wasn't it? At least it was made to seem so. Emily changed in the instant she knew she had been betrayed and it was already too late to run, or she didn't want to, so Naomi put up with it all. It was borderline abuse, now that she thinks about it. The coldness, the theft of her bed and her home and her heart. Someone, surely, somewhere would tell her that she was in the right for leaving. Or that is what she told herself time and time again. She didn't have anything to stay for anymore, right? It had all gone to shit.

They'd finally called things off after they tried to have a go at it in the summer, it just wasn't the same. Emily wanted to drink and Naomi wanted to read. Emily wanted to fuck when Naomi wanted to make love. She fucking missed Emily, her gentle Emily, not the drug-taking, smoking and hateful girl that had replaced her. Emily wanted to float and Naomi wanted to grow. She was too fucking smart and gifted and just… she couldn't stay in Bristol. When Emily started fucking other girls, she made her decision and accepted the invitation to study at New York University. New country, new life. She didn't need to burn Emily, because it had been burned the moment she let Sophia touch her and she was aware of it now, but they had lived in the remains for too long so leaving still left wounds, and the soot and ash from their former lives had compacted itself deeply in their skin, leaving scars so they could move on but never forget.

She'd managed four years away from Bristol, only visiting for one Christmas that second year she was away and never again after it. She'd run into Emily and her new 'friend' one night when she'd ventured out with Cook and it still hurt so bad, a year later, that she cried the whole walk home with Cook's arm firmly planted around her shoulders. He didn't know what to say, how to make it right. Or even if Naomi had wanted it to be made right. So he rubbed her arm and let her cry and led her home. They had started that fire together, and he never let her think she was facing it alone. He kissed her again, like that day on the grass in front of her house, the day she left Bristol for the final time and she knew it didn't mean what most people thought it would. They were best friends, they got each other. She told him then at the check-in she wouldn't be back and she boarded the plane to New York and that was it.

As soon as he was cleared to leave the country, he had shown up on her doorstep with just a duffle bag and she hugged him for what felt like an hour. They were best friends, they'd stick together. They'd made a pact to leave it all behind, and never fuck a girl with a name starting with E again.

Now here she was, four years later, and finally living that adult life she had always dreamed about. Well, mostly. She lived in a three bedroom apartment with Cook and a fucking dog. They had a fucking dog, named it Zoe. She'd finished that NYU for journalism and wrote for a minor newspaper during the day and tended bar with Cook at night. Between the both of them, they lived comfortably in a big apartment and most people thought they were dating and they let them, because they knew the truth. It was a simple life for them, for her and Cook and little fucking Zoe. She still swore to hate dogs, but she let the little black mutt sleep on her legs at night and fed her from the table, but she definitely still hated her. She liked their little makeshift family, it felt comfortable without being trapped and she could count on someone else. She'd never had that before, not with her mother and not with Emily, especially not at the end. Cook never let her down, and despite what everyone back in Bristol thought of him, he would take care of her. She was finally content until that fucking morning that changed it all.

She usually walked to work, even in the winter, the mornings in New York were still worth the walk. Sure, you had to deal with bums and sometimes snow and always ignorance. The one thing Naomi hadn't gotten over since her move to America was the just complete disregard for manners. She'd get shoved at least once a day on the sidewalk, or nearly pissed on by a dog (she hated them, remember?) Frankly, New Yorkers were rude. And this was coming from the queen of rude. But that morning, Cook had gotten up before her to make her pancakes. Fucking James Cook making her pancakes in the morning, who'd have thought that would be happening. But in her enjoyment of maple syrupy goodness, she'd lost track of time and had to dash out to the street to hail a cab. Naomi hated cabs more than she hated dogs and New Yorkers combined. Why did they always smell so fucking bad? And why didn't anyone speak English when you really needed them to? She was fully convinced that all taxi drivers could speak perfect English but pretended not to to avoid conversations with drunks or tourists. With her bloody accent, they always thought she was a tourist.

"Where you headed to, love?" Came the first response as she slid across the seat, careful not to bunch up the flowing skirt she'd chosen to don that morning. Of course, as she spent several minutes musing over the general lack of English-speaking cab drivers, she'd get one. One with an accent similar to hers, as well, who'd have thought it? It didn't stink too bad either, not like body odour, maybe a little maple syrup. Or maybe she still had the bloody shit on her face, which caused her to paw at her mouth for a second. She glanced up to give the address and her eyes narrowed at the familiarity of those staring back at her. It couldn't be, not in her safe bubble of New York. But instead of babbling the address of her place of employment, that definitely expected her through it's doors in ten minutes time, she stuttered out a confused. "M-M-Mr. Fitch?" and everything from there was ruined.

* * *

It took a second for those kind eyes to register who was speaking to him, but Rob Fitch's eyebrows raised and he actually just… grinned. Not the creepy scary grin that Naomi was used to, but a genuine one and though she was still put-off by this reminder of her past life, she found herself genuinely grinning back. "Naomi, love, that's it right? Haven't seen you in ages!" He turned a little from the steering wheel after sliding the taxi into park, to get a better look at the passenger in the seat of his taxi cab. Naomi suddenly felt like she was being sized up, and remembered all too well the last time she'd really seen the elder Fitch in her backyard at a barbeque with her screaming about drugs and fucking dead girls. Though Rob's eyes were still light, she shifted against the seat and furrowed her brows, cleared her throat. Obviously looked visibly nervous because Rob shifted again to put his hands on the wheel, though his eyes remained locked on the girl in his backseat through the rearview mirror. She found her voice after a moment, glancing up to meet his gaze. "Yeah, ages. Seventh and 47th, please?" She felt like a seventeen year old child all over again in front of her childhood love's parent. The eldest Fitch only nodded and started the car into traffic.

She merely sighed at her luck when they were in morning traffic. This is exactly why she didn't take cabs. Because it was quicker to walk on foot and then she wouldn't have been stuck in a goddamn yellow cab with Rob Fitch. "So love, how long have you been in the Big Apple, then?" He attempted to make conversation as she shifted uncomfortably under his rearview mirror gaze once more. She picked at the hem of her shirt with a shrug of her shoulders. "Nearly five years, I believe? Moved when I was eighteen." II figured Emily would have told you all about it./I Her decision to move to New York, or run away as Emily had put it, didn't sit well on their already crumbling relationship. In fact, they had ended so ugly that they'd ended up physically brawling and then crying and fucking before she packed to leave. The last real conversation she had with Emily had gone along the lines of her cowardice and how Emily already knew it was over anyway. Not a very good ending to a rocky relationship.

Rob Fitch knew more than he let on, it occurred to her when he simply nodded and moved his eyes back to the traffic. She fought the urge to roll her eyes, god knows what Emily made up about her. She also fought the urge to ask about the bitter girl that she wasn't Iallowed/I to even think of because of her pact with Cook. She'd managed to do relatively well, with only a few small things reminding her and causing that tiny ache in the centre of her chest. Making little progress in the traffic situation, Naomi leaned her head back against the seat and almost relished the silence, despite the underlying tension that had developed. They both had their minds on the same redheaded girl. "Yeh, we've been here about a year and a half I reckon?" The we made Naomi raise her eyes abruptly, which Rob caught and grinned a little. "Jenna and I split and I moved here on my own, then I wasn't so alone." He paused a moment, whether for dramatic effect or that he was concentrating on moving the vehicle forward, Naomi wasn't sure, but it set her chest on fire. That familiar fucking burn. Rob Fitch wasn't alone and she was. She hadn't even noticed when they arrived near enough to her destination and he slowed the cab to a stop. "Your stop, love." He jolted her out of her constriction and she nodded and looked at the meter, which he had obviously never started. With a wave of his hand he shook his head. "No worries." She moved from the seat with a blank nod of her own, her mind still reeling over the surreal ride. She glanced as Rob rolled down the window and grinned, still genuinely. "Got a business card, love?" She nodded and didn't question and fished it out of her large bag to hand to him. "Great, Emsy will love to have this when I get home."

She just stood dumbfounded as he drove off, on the curb of downtown Manhattan. Her jaw was surely touching the concrete, but as her phone started to buzz in her pocket she was reminded of how late she probably was. Fishing the phone from her pocket she pressed the answer key and blindly rose it to her ear, turning towards her building of employment. The loud voice on the other end, a bit angry, pushed her out of her little world and that roll of her eyes finally became a reality. "Keep your fuckin' knickers on, yeah? I'll be up in a second." And then she dropped the phone into the bottom of her bag, where it would be safe from her hands and moved towards work.

* * *

The day had been fairly uneventful, she'd been grounded to her desk for most of the day with a promise that if she didn't complete some bullshit tiny article on the re-emergence of a bloody cable station after blah blah blah, she wasn't really listening to her assignment. She'd drawn excellent stick figures in flames on the calendar on her desk and jumped at every buzz her phone had given her. She didn't dare pull it from her bag, what if Rob had really gone home and given her bitter, nasty ex her number. Was Emily still angry at her? Yeah, maybe she had run away and maybe they could have salvaged it, but they hardly recognized each other in those final days that Naomi wouldn't be convinced that they'd know each other any better four and a half years later. Eventually, of course, she gave in and pulled the blackberry from her bag. Two messages from Cook, another from a girl she'd chatted up while working at the bar and a missed call from her mother. She rolled her eyes, panicking over nothing, and responded to Cook about work that night, to the girl that was only in her phone as 'Sex on the Beach' that she was in fact working that night and dialed her mothers number from her desk telephone. After a few minutes of listening to the newest details in Gina and Kieran's sex life, Naomi had ended the conversation rather abruptly and gone to search through the vending machines for her daily candy bar lunch, abandoning her phone and desk in search of better prospects.

Armed with two candy treats and a bag of crisps and a water, Naomi resumed her position in her office to continue her epic stick figure masterpiece, with a little bit of a sugar rush to aid it's conception. She'd get to the article eventually, once she figured out exactly what she was supposed to be writing. She didn't like this bloody desk job anyway and her office was the equivalent of a janitorial closet. Frankly, she knew her concentration was shot for the day from her pleasant morning cab ride. Drumming the end of her pencil against the desk absently, Naomi leaned onto her hand and enjoyed the peace and quiet. She loved her life at home, but between Cook and the yappy little dog, it wasn't very peaceful in their flat. Not that she minded the noise either, she just appreciated the silence when it was granted to her. Creating an unsteady beat with her eraser, she moved the mouse of her computer to scroll through her e-mail rather haphazardly. Delete, delete, move, save. The same fucking shit, over and over again. It wasn't until her phone buzzed next to her, ominously close to the edge so she was forced to grab it. All forces were working against her that day, weren't they? One new text.

Scrolling through the different parts of her phone, she felt her stomach knot as she opened her messages. One new message, unknown number. It was a New York area code, familiar enough but not familiar at the same time. The morning was a far off haze with the second candy bar, she had managed to forget her run-in until she opened the message.

One new message. One new message that simply said _Ironic._


	2. Chapter 2

**You are all so very beautiful with your reviews! I didn't think I'd be one of those "please review!!!" kind of authors, but I'm very appreciative of everything that has been shot at me so keep them coming! Also, kudos to those who connected "Your Ex-Lover is Dead" by stars, I felt it was a very accurate song when it comes to Naomi and Emily, especially for this story, so those that don't know it should listen. Thank you all very much for the lovin'!**

* * *

Naomi's stomach sank as soon as she realized who the message must have come from, but she let out a laugh of disbelief. Surely, if it was who she thought it was, she still had those same guts. Moving the phone between her hands momentarily, she pondered what the correct response would be. Surely, they weren't friends so anything friendly was out of the question, but since Emily had taken the time to message her with just a simple word, she could hardly be so rude and not respond. But what was she to say? She hadn't planned to run into her father, she didn't even like fucking taxis in the first place. Emily knew where she had gone when she left their hometown and yet it was still ironic? She surely wasn't the one that was interfering on what Emily built in her absence! It was the other way around.

Half a bag of crisps later and she had only opened the message, spun her chair around and clicked through a few more e-mails but still didn't think of a proper response. Fucking ironic, it wasn't ironic. She wanted to text Emily back and tell her that she got her words wrong and really it was just silly, or stupid, and to go back home to England and leave her and her life alone. It wasn't perfect, but it was hers and it was what she built after the fucking destruction of what they had. Naomi had left Bristol a completely different person than she wanted to be. Before Emily, she had been content to be alone and even found it comfortable. But when everything corroded around them, she felt alone when she was Iwith/I Emily and she knew that was worse. One shouldn't feel alone when they're in love with someone. She'd taken into account the fact that sure, Emily probably felt alone too. She had lashed out and treated Naomi the way that she believed Naomi deserved and it was fine. Naomi believed she deserved it too, for a while, then it was just hateful. There was nothing ironic about them being in New York, just a stroke of bad luck. So that's what she sent.

_Bad luck, I reckon._

After the message was sent, she regretted it. Sure they had ended poorly, but it didn't mean they had to continue to drag it out. So it happened, so she ran into Rob Fitch . She ran it over and over again, still failing to see the supposed irony. Obviously, it wasn't her day to actually complete any work, but going home to Cook and being questioned wasn't something that Naomi particularly wanted to endure, not today after all that she'd already endured. It was a shock to the system, Emily being flung into her life after the years of burning and drinking her away. She tucked the phone into the pocket of her cardigan and slid more paperwork into her bag and vacated her desk, passing her supervisor with a mumble about research on the outskirts. What that meant, she really couldn't be bothered to decipher and her supervisor didn't really seem to care either. She needed to be out of the office, it was sucking all of the life out of her body and she felt like she was suffocating while she waited for the elevator. Her phone buzzed as the door's open, only tightening her chest even further.

_Maybe not so bad_.

Well, what the fuck. Slumping against the wall of the elevator as it descended, she rubbed the bridge of her nose. What the fuck was she supposed to respond to that with? Was this really Emily messaging her? It didn't seem like the bitter girl that she'd last seen, the messages, however brief, didn't project the hatred that had settled between them, the mutual disdain that they had left that last Christmas they had seen each other in a loud bar. If it hadn't been for Cook and the girl Emily was obviously fucking, there would have been more than a few slurs hurled at one another. A sigh escaped Naomi's lips at the memory of it. She was still unsure why there was so much irritation, but it was something about that thin line between love and hate. Frankly, Emily had hurled them over the hateful side when they were seventeen. Thought, admittedly, Naomi had started it. She had grown enough in the time they'd spent apart to be able to accept her part of their demise. But it hadn't been something that Emily had been willing to accept. She may have lit the match, but Emily had fanned the flames until they burned everything. Maybe she had hoped Naomi would catch fire. The way she had acted towards Naomi, the blonde didn't think that thought was really so absurd. Pushing off the wall as the doors opened, she was hit with a wave of anger.

Who the fuck was Emily Fitch to still make her chest hurt so bad. She no longer reserved that right, not after she had fought so hard to regain control of herself. And really, why was her luck so bloody awful? She again was at a loss with what she was supposed to respond with, but now was also faced with the dilemma of where to spend the rest of her day. The beginning of spring meant warmer weather, but also warranted everything far too wet to spend her time in the park. And since it was still before noon, it was too early to head to the pub. She scoffed as the thought even passed her mind, she wasn't a child anymore. She was 23 and an adult. With a sound that was similar to a whine, she resigned to head back towards her flat, though her mind was still glued to the brick of a phone that inhabited her pocket. She might as well have made sure it was Emily before letting herself get too wound up over it, she wasn't even sure if it was her former lover or maybe someone she'd drunkenly given her number. That tended to happen a lot when she let herself relax too much while tending bar. She typed out a message quickly and quickened her pace.

_Stalking me overseas now, hey?_

It was meant as a joke, of course, and she hoped it came across that way. They surely couldn't have that same level of hatred. If it wasn't Emily, the joke would just make her look like a fool and at this stage, she was okay with that, as long as it clarified the situation. Maybe, if it was in fact her ex-girlfriend, the joke would lighten the tension between them that Naomi still felt, even through text messages. She blindly fished through the contents of her bag as she walked, finally gripping onto the pack of cancer sticks that would hopefully easy her nerves. With the flick of her lighter and the first drag, she felt the nicotine coursing through her system and the tension lift just barely from her muscles. This, like the rest of her day of course, was ruined by the buzzing of her phone in her pocket. The dreadful vibration moved against her side and not even a deep, long inhale of smoke could make her forget it.

_Still annoying as ever. ;)_

And then it was confirmed, with a fucking smiley winky fucking face. She swore as she climbed the stairs in her building that she had read over the message at least ninety times before she reached her door. Even read it over as she fumbled with her keys in the lock, obviously enough for Cook to hear her and whip the door open. She watched his confusion transform into that priceless James Cook grin and then slide back into confusion again and wondered what she looked like. Was it possible for just a few hours of a morning to run someone down, enough to make Cook look at her like _that. He looped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into their shared space, pushing the dog aside gently with his foot. He didn't question her until he had shut the door behind them, dropped her coat and bag to the floor and sat her onto the couch, all while she let him, phone still gripped in her hand._

"_Naomikins, you look like you've seen the ghost of Christmas past or some shit. What the fuck?"_


	3. Chapter 3

**okay, okay. i know someone has a bounty on me out there, but you can call it off i'm here now! i had a large amount of things that came up, and i want to thank those persistently beautiful people who kept reminding me to come back here and take care of this. i won't bore you with excuses, but this will probably be short and shoddy while i find my inspiration again!**

* * *

Naomi had managed to put off a grilling by Cook by simply asking him for a glass of water. Though he usually protested against 'waiting on her lazy arse', she was reassured in the fact that she probably looked like pure shit when he got up without a word and returned with a glass of water with ice and a comforting hand to her back. "You gonna talk at all or we gonna just sit here in fucking silence?" He spoke softly, not in the boisterous tone that usually accompanied his jests. Naomi had to laugh at it, almost bitterly, because she was still in utter disbelief about everything about her day so far. She sipped from her water, the mobile phone still gripped tight in one hand. She watched as her roommate eyed it and scooted a little further away on the couch, moving the small dog in between them as a shield. "Don't look at me like that, give me a few moments and I will tell you without the invasion of my privacy." He shifted again and that fucking dog moved out of his way. "You're both betrayers!" The blonde screeched, pushing off the couch with a warning hand so she was standing above Cook, who had laid down in an attempt to mask his failed lunge.

With her hands at her hips, a very Naomi Campbell stance, she tucked the phone into the pocket of her cardigan and pursed her lips. "Now, you have to promise me you won't give me shit." She narrowed her eyes at her best mate, who only grinned and nodded in return, staying uncharacteristically silent as he waited for her to continue. With a sigh, she did, "This morning I had a ride from Rob Fitch." She watched as Cook tried to process the information she had spoken, from confusion to realization and back to confusion, only then settling on that cheeky grin he was so well known for. "Wait, so you shagged the twins' dad? What?" With a roll of her eyes so hard she was surprised they didn't fall right from her head, and she swatted at his arm hard. Plopping down back onto her place on the couch, she didn't wait for Cook to move and just sat onto his chest as more of a punishment, though he didn't even flinch and simply laid where he was, resting his arms comfortably over her thighs. They were comfortable like that, able to just lounge across one another without worrying about it going any further than that. Besides that one time in college where they almost shagged, they had never really been even close to doing something even similar, despite a lot of drunken time spent with one another. She relaxed against him, and he could tell that she was still stressed so he stroked his thumb over the skin of her leg, silently urging her to express what it was that sat on her chest.

"Emily's messaged me."

It was all Naomi had to say for the look on Cook's face to move from amused to confused and then back to a combination of both. That familiar wiggle of the eyebrows is what, surprisingly, set Naomi's worries slightly more at ease. Cook didn't make a perverted comment, he didn't have to. She knew him well enough that his silence in that moment was both out of concern and because he was imagining her past relationship with the small redhead. Very predictable. So she moved their position until she was laid against his broad chest, with his arm looped over her back. She explained to him the events of her morning, and the bloody text messages, and of course he only laughed at her distress but it made her feel better. Cook always made her feel better. "So what you're saying is that she's flirting with ya, blondie. Why you so stressed about that? You told me once she was a good fuck, and believe me, you need one of those." He chuckled as she slapped him and sat up. "Especially with that gloomy fuckin' look on your face."

Naomi couldn't help the glower that crossed her delicate features, and she knew that Cook was just trying to help in his typical Cook manner, but she still pushed off of him and sat up with an exasperated sigh. It wasn't that she was angry at him, she knew in a way he was right. But the entrance of Emily into her life, at this time, in any sense, was a recipe for disaster and she wasn't sure she wanted to stoke those flames again. "Why can't you ever be fucking serious for once, James? This is a real life crisis situation. What am I supposed to say back to her?" She stopped in the middle of the room upon realizing she had been pacing, and turned brilliant eyes back to her best mate. "Maybe I don't have to say anything back to her, that seems logical, yeah? We're not friends. Winky face emoticons equal friends. But we ended poorly and we're n---"

"NAOMIKINS!" Cook tossed a pillow in her direction, eyes widened as he realized _finally_ that maybe jokes at this delicate time were a bad idea. "You're starting to sound like cunting JJ, man. You are an adult, just send her a message back. Fuck the emoticoners or whatever the fuck they're called." Cook didn't even bother with texting, told her once that it was just a waste of time when you could 'have a quicker bloody conversation with a ringaling.' He was probably right. She hated ever telling him that he was right though. Pulling her phone up to eye level, she scanned over that fucking winking smiley and groaned. What was the real response for that? Change the subject, right? Fucking winky emoticons.

_you alright then? xx_

Simple. To the point. Still, she felt stupid. She had spent the most intimate of time with this girl, more than any other person in her entire lifetime, and yet she still couldn't figure out how to carry on a conversation with her via text messages. The buzzing in her hand was too quick to allow her any more time to wallow in her shit conversational skills and she almost didn't want to look at it. With a faux snore coming from Cook, who was still watching her with interest as to where her complicated life was headed, she was urged by his gaze to open the new message, though she almost tossed him the phone and made him do it on his own. She wanted to pretend like she wasn't intrigued. Naomi Campbell didn't care about anything, right?

_Yeah. Well.... yeah, yeah. You doing well then? My dad says you're a 'professional', can't picture it. I can see you hanging yourself with a phone chord or sticking your fingers into pencil sharpeners rather than sit behind a desk.  
_

Even in text messages, Emily Fitch was still a rambler, and Naomi felt herself smiling at the memory. More of a rambler when high or pissed, or when she was trying to think of something other than the sexual tension they had always had burning the air between them. Shitty time to remember that, though. She moved out of Cook's eyesight, ignoring his pleas to tell him the rest of her electronic conversation. He'd find out soon enough, whether she told him or he stole her phone while she was asleep. She'd have to find better places to hide it because he always sent the raunchiest messages to the most random of people. She moved into the kitchen to have a seat at the table, drumming fingers against the shiny wood beneath them. Responding shouldn't be so hard, she was fucking eloquent and shit. Sometimes. With a grin, mostly at her own stupidity, Naomi keyed a message and hit send and placed the phone down to make dinner.

_desk monkey by day, barback by night. living the american dream. xx  
_

"Cook, what's for dinner? I know you're feeding me before you get me shitfaced at our place of employment." One more buzz, she'd only respond one more time, already ignoring what Cook yelled back to her in favour of reading her ex's words

_Can't really see you as a Cheers type of person, more of the angry bouncer._

A short laugh escaped her throat, genuine amusement. Maybe she was the only one that was so awkward in this situation.

_HAHA fuck off fitch. xx_


End file.
